The Kronos Files: Loveless
by whatswithalltherandomnames
Summary: Annabeth Chase, a spy who doesn't believe in love. Percy Jackson, a civilian who may be closer to her world than either could know. When she's assigned a protection detail after a failed mission, she is furious. It doesn't help that her brother is out there, as an enemy. She needs someone to trust, but how can she when she knows no one can be trusted?AU Percabeth Thuke Book1
1. Prologue

**Hey, there, ****_Loveless_**** readers! For those of you that don't know, this is a rewrite of my story ****_Found_****. If you're wondering why I'm doing this, basically I realised that it had no development and that my writing style wasn't as good as it is now. Not that it's perfect, now, of course. I'm not arrogant or anything like that.**

**Sorry, I'm rambling. I do that a lot.**

**As I was saying, this is a rewrite. And please give it a chance.**

**Pretty please?**

**With a cherry on top?**

**With a thousand cherries on top?**

**What is it with cherries, anyway? Why is a cherry on top, not another fruit? Like a banana (YUCK!)? Or an orange? Or a mango?**

**Rambling again. Sorry.**

**So... give it a chance, and hopefully you won't regret it. I don't think you will.**

**Disclaimer: Yes, I'm a middle aged man who lives in Texas and makes his money by writing bestselling books. (Note the sarcasm)**

**_Prologue_**

**love** _noun_

a strong feeling of affection: _familial love, romantic love. Jenny __**loved **__her new shoes. Theresa __**loves**__ her sister. Johnny __**loves**__ Margaret._

_Agapè_

_Amour_

_Amor_

_Fikir_

_Ai._

_Philedelphos._

_Pagibig._

_Liebe_

_Kaadhal._

_Cinta._

_ Techihhila._

Whichever way it's said, whatever country it's said in, it speaks of commitment. Loyalty. Truth. Affection. Protection. Sacrifice.

And, according to Agent Annabeth Chase, or, Owlet, as some knew her, it didn't exist.

What did exist, however, was betrayal.

**betray **_verb_

be disloyal to someone: _He refused to __**betray**__ her trust._

Oh, she knew betrayal. It tainted every phase of her life—she was very familiar with it. And it always came accompanied by its sister, abandonment.

**abandon **_verb_

leave permanently: _She abandoned her son at the door of the orphanage._

The process started with abandonment and ended with betrayal. It was a lesson, or perhaps a course, since it was cut into so many segments, so many steps. So many little bursts of hope, torn to pieces by the ugly truth.

**truth **_noun_

the state of being in accordance with fact or reality

The colourful and heartbreaking game that people had played with her had taken its toll. A mother had left her with her father. A stepmother had refused to accept her as her own. A father stood by her stepmother, never intervening, never even offering a word of comfort. A best friend died. A brother left her. And she realised that, if so many people could hurt her so much, then the way they acted showed the same truth: _love didn't exist_.

After all, no one had ever bothered to show her differently.

**show **_verb_

be evidence of; prove

~*/Love\\*~

**Unknown time, unknown location, most probably the year 2021**

It was hot.

Not the sunny, want to go to the pool hot. Not even the bundled up in blankets on a hot night hot. No, it was the oven hot, the middle of a desert hot.

And it was nowhere near pleasant.

That was the first thing that Owlet registered as she slowly re-entered the realm of the living. Sweat trickled down her forehead, soaking into her messy blonde hair and dripping down her face. Her grey uniform clung to her body, its heavy material only making the heat worse.

The next was the smell.

The acrid stench of smoke burned her nostrils, and she coughed, searing her throat. She held her breath, resisting the urge to cough again. Her lungs begged for breath, and finally she capitulated, greedily drawing in breath again. The air was unexpectedly clear, pure, and Owlet's grey eyes darted open. Everything was white—white walls, white ceiling, even a white floor. There was no door in sight.

Then she noticed that she wasn't secured in any way.

No chains, no ties—nothing. She stood unsteadily, leaning against the slippery white wall. Where was she? The seventeen year old blinked, taking a deep breath as she tried to remember what had happened.

It all came back with startling clarity. And, with the memories, came the sudden realisation of where she must be. Owlet looked around again, going through the list of what protocol stated she had to look for.

Possible exits? The girl scanned the walls again, searching for even a crack. The walls were as smooth as flawless glass, but they certainly felt more solid. She tapped on one, and the sound that resulted was nothing that she had ever heard before. Definitely not glass, and probably nothing that would break anytime soon. The ceiling was high, and the floor just as flawless as the walls.

Hostile forces? She scanned the room again, and the only thing that occupied it other than herself was a tiny device at her feet. Resisting the urge to touch it, Owlet painstakingly lowered herself to the ground, studying it carefully. The black box contrasted sharply with the white... everything. But it was just as smooth as everything else, too.

Suddenly, it released another puff of the acrid smoke- which was bright pink, she noticed, and Owlet drew back, holding her breath. She started to move away from the black box...

... And smacked right into an invisible wall.

It had to be glass, or something much like it. But she hadn't noticed it at all, and Owlet prided herself on her observational skills. Her head was fuzzy, like a blanket had settled over her mind, and she suddenly realised that she had been drugged.

Well, of course she had been drugged. No good operative- government or otherwise- would imprison a hostile force without properly subduing said force. It was in all the manuals, all the guidebook, all the lessons. She should've realised that when she first woke up.

The pink smoke filled the tiny space quickly, and Owlet looked longingly at the room outside it. Before long, black spots danced at the edge of her vision, and the agent was forced to take a breath.

The glass walls slid silently into the ceiling, but the girl was too busy hacking the smoke out of her lungs to notice or care. She collapsed into the floor, greedily pulling in fresh air. She had held her breath for exactly five minutes, fourteen seconds, her newest record. The blanket seemed to have been thrown off her brain as the smoke was expelled from her body, and Owlet wondered if it was an antidote to whatever she had been drugged with. At least that would mean they wanted her alive.

But then the pain kicked in.

It seemed as if every fibre of her being was on fire, burning, shrivelling up and dying. It tore through her body with every beat of her heart and the teen realised that the drug must've been a painkiller. She struggled to breath, to think, to live. Agony overwhelmed her, blocking out every thought but _pain_.

Suddenly, it stopped, and a pair of stormy grey eyes darted open in surprise. What was happening?

"Have you had enough?" a masculine, very familiar voice asked coolly. The voice of the person that had betrayed her, that had promised her love and torn her heart to shreds.

Owlet stayed silent. The noise was coming from the walls, no doubt from tiny hidden speakers.

"Very well," the voice said. "I suppose we'll just have to try something different."

The glass slid down again, and the device spewed out a thick red smoke. Owlet pressed herself against the wall, holding her breath, though she knew it was no use. The poison was sucked into her lungs painfully, spreading through her body. The blonde girl's vision blurred, colours blending and bouncing, control of her limbs all but forgotten. Noises were distorted, distant.

But, before she succumbed to unconsciousness, Owlet thought she heard the voice say something very clearly.

"How bad are your memories, daughter of Athena?"

**bad **_adjective_

harmful, unpleasant

**Did you regret it? Did you? Review if you loved it, review if you hate it, review if you just love Percabeth! Reviewers get cookies.**


	2. Familiarity

**_Thank you to all who reviewed/favourited/followed my story. It really means the world to me. Like, the whole entire world._**

**_I don't own PJO_**

**_Chapter One_**

**Undisclosed North American town, July 31, 2020, 2:31 pm.**

**familiarity **_noun_

the state of being friendly and close

An elegant brunette wove skilfully through the crowd, her silk dress more fit for a dinner party than a festival. People tore their eyes away from the play onstage room stare at her, so she fished a hoodie out of her bag and pulled it on. Her grey eyes darted around suspiciously before she tugged of the straight wig, letting her curly blonde hair free.

She stuffed it into her handbag, ignoring the curious looks from passers-by. Maybe they thought she was a part of the carnival, and were wondering why she wasn't up on stage, a part of the complicated drama that was taking place. She had to admit, it would've been a good way to observe the festivities without tipping off the Titan agents that they suspected were participating. But she could already see some of her co-workers from CAMP—Catastrophe And Maelstrom Prevention—playing roles that allowed full view of the crowd.

She smiled at one, in an uncharacteristically elated mood because of the ease with which she pulled off her mission.

The idiots had actually fallen into her trap. It would be hours before they realised that the agent they were chasing was only a decoy, provided no complications appeared. None would, of course. After all, she had made the plan.

Her phone rang, from a number that she had been made to memorize on her very first day of training. The analysts at CAMP.

"Owlet," she answered, quietly, hiding behind the stage. No one, let alone the numerous enemy agents that no doubt prowled the festival, could hear the conversation that was about to transpire.

"Was your mission successful, Owlet?" Her older half-brother, Malcolm, inquired. "Did you get the files?"

"I'm bringing pictures back to base. The files are in a secure location."

"See you soon," he hesitated. "I'm glad you're okay. I'm not sure what we'd do without you."

Annabeth smiled sadly. They'd just go on with their lives. She wasn't anything special. If anything, there was something about her that made people leave her, or hate her, or at least hurt her in some way. "Thank you for your concern, Feather." She refused to call him anything but his codename; familiarity only led to pain.

She ducked into a restaurant that she often ate at, using the restroom to change into her customary jeans and t-shirt, and taking out the contacts that hid her stormy grey eyes. Her mother's eyes. The mission had to work, if Annabeth was to make her proud. She stared at the mirror, lost in thought. She knew every look of her mother's eyes: angry, sad, happy, proud... She hurried out of the restroom, refusing to think of the disappointment that would fill those wise grey eyes if she failed.

Realising that she may as well collect some Intel while she was able, she sat down at a table and motioned her source over.

"Any information, Mr Nakumara?" she asked him quietly, as he took her order, slipping into her cover effortlessly.

"For a price, Miss Datre," he murmured back, his one eye full of greed.

"The usual payment?" she offered, and then louder, "Yes, I'll have a Greek Salad, thanks."

"Double," His mouth tipped up at the corners, and she knew that he wasn't bluffing. "Will that be all?"

Annabeth raised an eyebrow, "That good?" The usual price was a significant amount of money. "And a water, if you please."

"It's better. Your food will be ready soon." He went to take her order to the chef, not arriving back to give her it until it was done, so as not to raise suspicion.

Slipped in her napkin was a small memory card, no doubt loaded with information. She smiled, slipping in the payment with the bill as she got up to leave.

"Pleasure doing business with you," she whispered, completely missing the self-satisfied and almost evil smirk that spread over his face as she walked out.

"Have fun with freedom, Miss Chase," Ethan whispered under his breath, "I assure you, you won't have much left."

Annabeth didn't hear; she was already out the door.

~*/Love\\*~

**Approximately ten years earlier, San Francisco, the Chase household.**

"Annabeth," her parents called, "Come downstairs."

The six-year-old complied, skipping every second stair as she made her descent. As she went, she contemplated the book that she'd just read, The Hobbit, and wondered what her parents would say if they heard about it. Nothing good, probably. They didn't approve of little girls reading books they'd read in their teens.

It didn't matter, though. It was hers, had arrived in the mail with her name on it, just like her other books that she liked read but was never allowed to. Her name, not mommy's or daddy's, so it was all hers. And written inside the cover was a note in the prettiest, neatest, handwriting she had ever seen.

Hope you like it, baby girl. ~Owl.

"Annabeth!" her mother called again, her voice tinged with anger. Maybe they had seen the book in her room. Annabeth ran down the rest of the steps, not realising she had stopped until her mother had called her.

"I'm here, Mommy," she stated from the doorway. "I was... playing with my toys."

"Reading books, no doubt," her mother scoffed, and Annabeth flinched. What was wrong with reading? The person sending her books obviously liked it.

"We're making a big decision, baby, and we want your advice," her father explained more kindly.

"How so?"

Her mother scowled. "Listen to her, Frederick. 'How so?' What sort of six year old says that?"

He sighed. "A special one, Helen." Annabeth beamed as her father defended her, but her face fell at her mother's next words.

"A strange one, you mean. Different. High and Mighty. What sort of person was her mother, a novelist?"

Her brow furrowed in confusion. Wasn't her mommy standing in front of her?

"Shhhhhhhh!" her father hissed. "Not here. Not now."

"What do you mean, Mommy?" Annabeth asked, her sweet little face a mask of confusion.

"It's nothing, baby girl. Your mommy and I, though, have been thinking about adopting," her daddy said, changing the subject. "Would you like a big brother?"

Annabeth's face split into big grin. "A real, live big brother?"

"Yes, honey."

"Really, really, really? What's his name?"

Her daddy smiled at her happiness. "Really, Annabeth. And his name is Luke."

**Review and tell me what you think. Go on and flame me, but I would prefer if you told me the faults of this story civilly. Thanks.**

**~Random**


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